


Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Kerkerian_StopYulin



Series: Merlin and Harry [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Harry's and Merlin's past, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Canon, Some Fluff, merlin whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian_StopYulin/pseuds/Kerkerian_StopYulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Merlin is abducted, not only Harry's world is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Kingsman" or any recognizable characters. Furthermore, I do not own the title, which is borrowed from J.K. Rowling.

Harry Hart took off his glasses and scowled at them. He hadn't been online for several days, the location of his just finished job having been too remote. He was battered and weary and only craved two things right now: to speak with Merlin and to get back on the plane and eat something, preferably accompanied by a pint of stout. He didn't even care that he hadn't yet had time to shower and get out of his dirty clothes; it'd be a blessing in itself to escape the heat. He was actually looking forward to the cold December weather at home.

The taxi he was sitting in had claimed to have air-conditioning, but it didn't seem to be working. Not that Harry was surprised, and presently, he didn't even care. He couldn't reach Merlin, which was strange. Irritably, he looked at his watch, even though he knew that the temporal difference was a mere four hours and Merlin should be at his desk or at least contactable.

Harry put his glasses back on and tried again, to no avail. Instead of Merlin, it was Arthur whose voice answered, and Harry's stomach immediately dropped.

"Arthur? What's wrong?", he asked, not adhering to protocol for once. "Where's Merlin?"

"We don't know." Arthur sounded grave. "He didn't turn up for work today, and he's not at home either. We already checked with all the hospitals and talked to all the neighbours. No one's seen him all day."

Harry's mouth went dry. "Can you try to trace him?"

"His signal's off. We could trace it till shortly after six this morning."

"Which is when he usually leaves for work," Harry murmured. "And someone seems to have known so." He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment: "Shit!"

Which didn't even remotely express the horrible sinking sensation Harry felt right then, the moment of sheer, undeniable panic. He had been trained to reign in his emotions, and he had always managed to do so whenever necessary, yet he had learned long ago that he was forced to make exceptions when it came to the man he loved. Arthur didn't know about that, of course, therefore Harry made an effort to appear calm, which wasn't easy considering that he was shaking all over and didn't trust himself to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"We're currently reviewing CCTV footage of Merlin's house's vicinity," Arthur continued. "And Lancelot is trying to remotely activate Merlin's signal."

"Good." Harry barely heard himself for the loud rushing of blood in his ears. "I'm about to fly home, if anything new should come up."

"Very well. Have a good flight." With that, Arthur signed off.

  
  


Harry tried to occupy himself with his report during the flight, but he had trouble concentrating; his mind kept wandering to what might have happened to Merlin, and his innards clenched painfully with anxiety.

It was only in the privacy of their own homes that they could behave like a couple, but even there they were careful never to leave any evidence of their being together. There were no photos or loveletters, no clothes, no toiletries: nothing which would have indicated that Alan Haig and Harry Hart were anything other than friends and colleagues. It was a necessary precaution required by their line of work, albeit one which sometimes made Harry melancholy. He'd have liked to have Merlin's things around, to have his toothbrush in the glass next to his own, to openly live what they had instead of keeping it a secret. Maybe one day, after they had retired- which admittedly seemed a rather alien notion- they'd retreat to a remote place somewhere where they didn't have to hide their relationship any longer. He clung to that thought, not permitting himself to fear the worst. If someone would have wanted to kill Merlin- funny how his given name didn't seem to fit him anymore- then they'd have done that without abducting him first.

 _Not necessarily_ , a small, unpleasant voice in his mind said _._

Who? Harry asked himself. Who even knew about Merlin? His private social life other than the time he spent with Harry consisted of meeting his old godmother for tea every few weeks, and she was under the impression that her godson was working as a business consultant.

Merlin spent a great deal of his time at UK HQ; he wasn't present in any social network and rarely met new people except for the occasional recruits or agents from other branches. Harry knew that he didn't consider himself lonely though; he was content with the way his life had turned out, despite the fact that he couldn't partake in active field duty any longer because he had lost part of his left leg in an explosion.

Understandably, it had taken time for him to come to terms with his fate once his injuries had healed, but Harry had stayed at his side as much as his own time allowed, and his strength had kept Merlin up. If any of their colleagues had suspected anything due to the fact that Harry had taken leave in the first few weeks after the incident and had even spent the nights at Merlin's bedside in the infirmary, none of them had shown it. Mutual respect was one of Kingsman's priorities, after all, and friendship was highly valued.

Harry pursed his lips; even so, no matter from which angle he looked, he couldn't entirely rule out that they might be having a traitor amongst them, not as long as they didn't have any lead.

  
  


Harry went directly to the shop once he had landed. He had had a quick wash on the plane and had changed into his suit with trembling hands, barely able to do up his tie.

He found Arthur and Lancelot at Merlin's work station, staring at the main screen with furrowed brows.

They were looking at the CCTV footage they had secured, and at first, Harry wasn't sure that there was anything to see. It showed part of the street Merlin lived in, the sidewalk and a hedge, nothing more.

Harry cleared his throat to announce his arrival and received a quick glance from Lancelot and a scrutinizing stare from Arthur.

"Galahad," the latter said, "welcome back. I gather you've been successful?"

Harry nodded: "I sent you the report," he replied with all the patience he could muster, "Anything?"

Arthur heaved a sigh: "Unfortunately, no. We couldn't activate Merlin's signal, there might be something in this video though."

"There hasn't been much traffic before seven, and only one car in the appropriate time window. It passed by at 6:08 a.m. and at rather great speed at that."

"Did you see the license plate?"

"Nope."

Harry swore under his breath: what use were those cameras when they didn't even record the essentials?

"Which model was it?"

"A black minivan. One of thousands in this city."

"Hm. Can you show me?"

Nodding, Lancelot rewound the video a little; it was difficult to see any details since it had still been dark at the time. At first, nothing happened, then the car went by. He rewound the feed again and slowed it down. Since the window was reflecting the light of a streetlamp, the driver was barely discernible, but Lancelot froze the picture nevertheless, using the program to enhance it.

It was astounding, Harry mused distractedly while he watched, how far technology had come. After a few more mouse-clicks, the driver's head was visible in profile. The quality of the video and the lighting were poor, therefore the picture Lancelot had obtained was rather grainy, but it might be enough to run it through facial recognition.

"It'll take a while," Lancelot murmured as he started the search. "Do any of you think this man looks familiar?"

Harry narrowed his eyes; the man in question was wearing a cap and appeared to be squinting, which'd make it even more difficult to find a match if there was any. He didn't look familiar at first glance, but of course, that wasn't saying much. All of them were aware that they were clutching at straws with only one suspect to go after, but at least, Harry told himself, they were doing something.

  
  


It took two hours to search through the available data, which was fast and only thanks to Kingsman's superb equipment, but Harry's unease was increasing by the minute. It made him nervous that there hadn't been a ransom note of some kind or any note by now, really- whoever had abducted Merlin very likely knew about his employers, or at least about the shop in Savile Row. They'd know where to drop their demands.

Not ready to give up so easily, Lancelot next ran the image through the staff's data base which contained every single person who had ever worked for Kingsman, be it as a spy, a cook or a groundskeeper; nothing came out of that either, however. It made for a bit of relief; even during the search, Harry had already dismissed the idea that it was someone of their own, since it simply didn't make any sense. It was furthermore rather likely that the man in the car didn't have anything to do with it either.

His mind was reeling as he was simultaneously trying to think logically and to keep calm, two things he usually never had difficulties with; in fact, functioning under pressure was one of the main requirements of his job. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reminding himself that he wasn't going to help Merlin if he didn't keep his shit together. He could almost feel the warmth of his partner's smile at that, which was as surprisingly painful as a kick in the shin.

"Lancelot," he said, opening his eyes again. "Can you pull up Merlin's CV, please?"

"Sure. Arthur?"

Arthur nodded and typed in the password which protected their personal files.

Harry chose not to look at Merlin's photo, taken a long time ago, but immediately read the text.

"His time in the RAF," he murmured, "maybe there's something there. We need access to their personnel records."

Arthur regarded him over the rim of his glasses: "That's nearly thirty years ago. Do you really think you might find a connection?"

Harry couldn`t quite put a finger on it yet, but he thought he might. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. He had asked Merlin about his time in the armed forces, but most of the information was classified and the Scot had honoured that prohibition, even with him. He rarely talked about his past anyway.

"I'll try to hack into their database," Lancelot offered, "though I'm not Merlin."

"I know," Harry muttered, "I appreciate your efforts. I'm going to have a look in Merlin's flat in the meantime; maybe I'll find something."

  
  


Merlin blinked into the semi darkness around him. The little he could see was blurred: someone had taken his glasses. Great. He tried to recall what had happened; he felt nauseous and disoriented, which, combined with the fact that whoever had taken his glasses had also tied him to a chair, didn't bode well. He vaguely remembered leaving his home for work, but apparently, someone had captured him before he got there. Just great; he didn't even remember how, but a lingering pain in his neck told him that apparently, they hadn't been very subtle.

He squinted, trying to make out his surroundings, but since he couldn't even read the alarm clock from his bed without his glasses, it didn't help him much. There was a small source of dim light which seemed to be a basement window, the rest dissolved into blacks and blues. It was very quiet, he didn't even hear any traffic. It was cold, and he realized that his shoes, jacket and scarf had been taken as well. He didn't like the idea of someone handling his unconscious self, it only added to his discomfort.

Gingerly, he tested his bonds, but his captors seemed to have some skills in that regard; it felt like cable ties, and there wasn't any room to move and try to loosen them. He refused to be frightened by the situation, but a small pang of unease made itself known nevertheless: he could only wait and see what was going to happen.

  
  


Immediately after letting himself into Merlin's flat, Harry paused for a moment, closing his eyes ever so briefly and inhaling deeply; Merlin's scent was palpable, or maybe he was imagining it. He found that he was trembling ever so slightly, which wasn't very pleasant; he didn't like to lose control like that. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to pretend that this was just another case he was investigating, and began to look through Merlin's mail. It still felt like he was intruding on his boyfriend's privacy, even though he knew that Merlin'd do the same if their roles were reversed.

There was nothing there; despite being thorough, Harry didn't find anything which might have been useful.

After he was done, he went back into the bedroom, opening Merlin's wardrobe and inhaling deeply once more- this time, the scent was definitely there. Harry lingered until he felt calmer, despite everything, then he turned to go, eyes roaming over the few framed photos on the wall of the vestibule on his way out, not really taking them in.

  
  


Merlin was getting cold, and his whole body was aching by now. At least the blood flow to his hands and foot hadn't been cut off by the ties; losing one limb had been enough, he didn't fancy going through the whole process again. He shouldn't think about that now however, he should concentrate. Why had he been captured in the first place, he asked himself. Did someone know about Kingsman and wanted detailed information? How had they found out?

Judging by what little light was coming in, it was already close to dusk; he wondered when his host was going to show up and why he was taking so long. It might be a strategic move, of course, to show him that he was at their mercy; or maybe they had been held up. The first option might be the better one, he mused darkly, though neither was very bracing. Since he hadn't shown up at work, the Kingsmen were bound to be at it already; hopefully, that included Harry, who was supposed to return home today. He wished he could talk to Harry right now, hear his reassuring voice in all the blurry gloom.

  
  


They had hit a dead end. Though Lancelot had been successful at hacking into the database, they still didn't have a match. It was getting dark outside, and Harry felt like a complete failure.

"How can I prevent the assassination of a prime minister but not solve a simple abduction?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

Lancelot, who had been trained by Merlin and held him in very high esteem, rubbed a hand over his face: "Because it's so mundane," he said. "Taking someone in the morning, in the middle of a road- well, or on the pavement- that's the opposite of the whole cloak-and-dagger thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry had to admit that Lancelot had a point. He stretched, feeling his weariness descend like a cloud; he couldn't give up now though. There had to be something.

"Lancelot," he said, "don't you want to go home as well?" Arthur had retreated half an hour ago.

"Oh no, I'm fine," Lancelot replied nonchalantly. "I'll make us some fresh tea and then we could have another go at Merlin's signal."

Harry nodded. He leaned back and once more reviewed the available intelligence: Merlin had left his flat a few minutes past six. His signal had been turned off shortly afterwards, meaning whoever had taken him had known that his glasses weren't mere visual aids. None of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and there hadn't been any passers-by at that early hour. The CCTV footage had shown only the one car, whose driver didn't turn up in any of the data bases they had searched through. Nor had any ransom notes.

They well and truly were stuck.

  
  


Harry had little hope of success, but he watched attentively as Lancelot tried to activate Merlin's signal. "It's actually strange that I couldn't get any response earlier," the younger agent said, never taking his eyes off the screen, "because there should be a signal even if it's not functioning properly or has been turned off."

"Maybe the signal is blocked."

"Yes. That'd be the worst case scenario." However, Lancelot didn't pause; with slow movements because he wasn't used to Merlin's desktop he opened a few consecutive subdirectories, reading through their contents quickly.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, annoyed that he couldn't make anything out of the abbreviations; to him, it was all gibberish.

"I was hoping Merlin'd have a tool to amplify the signal. Maybe it's too weak."

"Merlin will have amped the strength to its max anyway," Harry said. "It'll be at its limits already."

Lancelot grinned complacently: "Never say never."

Harry couldn't but smile: "Yeah," he murmured fondly, "especially in Merlin's case. He does deserve that name." Harry had long since been convinced that if things weren't all top secret, Merlin'd have won several Nobel prices by then for his sheer brilliance; it was refreshingly gratifying to realize that he, Harry, wasn't the only one who didn't simply take their gadgets for granted but actually appreciated all the modifications and improvements which made their jobs so much easier.

  
  


While Lancelot continued to search through Merlin's files, Harry looked at the enhanced image from the CCTV video once more, trying to make something of the small but consistent nagging in his mind. What had he overlooked?

He glared at the picture, taking in the unknown man's face until it hit him: the man wasn't squinting, as they had initially thought. Harry pushed his chair back a little, staring hard at the gritty image: the skin around the man's eye and on his temple was heavily scarred.

Harry closed his eyes. He had seen someone like that. Where. Where had he- he gasped. He had missed something, again. How could he have been so stupid? They had indeed been wrong about the RAF, but maybe not about Merlin's past.

  
  


A sound pulled Merlin out of his thoughts. He had been dozing for a while, but the uncomfortable position he was in didn't allow for him to fall asleep. He wouldn't have minded, since he couldn't do anything anyway and it would have distracted him from being hungry and thirsty, but now he was wide awake again. The cold air had him shivering. He willed his body to stop it, because it might be taken for a sign of fear, which he was determined not to show. He had survived so many other critical situations, he was going to survive this one as well, and with as much dignity as possible.

A few moments later, there was a squeaking sound to his left, and a door he hadn't been able to see opened; someone came in, and at the same time, a ceiling light came on. Merlin squinted into the sudden brightness; he didn't recognize the man who had entered the room until he was right in front of him.

"Edward," he said, surprised.

  
  


"Lancelot," Harry said, "is Merlin's personal file still open?"

Lancelot looked at him, distracted at first, then alert due to the visible tension in Harry's frame: "Sure. Find something?"

"Hopefully. Let's see... Living next of kin: none," Harry read aloud. "Other relatives: a godmother, Muriel Hardcastle. There." He pulled up her file.

"What? She's 91."

"Yes," Harry replied impatiently, "and she's suffering from dementia too. Merlin mentioned it. I'm merely looking for her son's name."

"You think it's him in the picture?"

"Maybe. He and his mother have been quite estranged for some time, Merlin didn't even know whether he was still living here. He seems to have been quite a disappointing character." And Muriel had taken solace in her godchild, from what Harry had gathered, in return being like a mother to him. And now Harry knew where he had seen that scarred face, thank goodness for Merlin's undeniable sentimental streak: there was a picture of Muriel and her son among the framed photos in Merlin's flat.

"He got those scars in a car accident," Harry muttered. If Lancelot found it odd that Harry knew such rather intimate details about Merlin's extended family, he didn't let it on.

"There," he said, "Edward Hardcastle. There's nothing about him though, I'll have to search for him. We're not getting anywhere with Merlin's signal anyway."

  
  


"Alan," Edward said, "fancy seeing you here." He pulled a second chair out of the darkness and sat down on it; at least he was close enough that Merlin could see his face. Inwardly, he groaned though; whatever had compelled Edward to this latest stupidity, he seemed to be very confident in his plan.

"I didn't actually have a choice, did I?" Merlin replied, playing along.

"No," Edward said cheerfully. "You didn't. Sorry about the wait, by the way."

 _Bloody amateur_ , Merlin thought. _You should have made me wait much longer._ He was still able to control himself, after all. "So why am I here?"

"You've been seeing my mother," Edward said, his expression turning serious.

"Yes. And?"

"You were always her favourite," Edward spat. "While I could never do anything right for her, she all but worshipped you. It was Alan this and Alan that, all day long, especially after your parents died."

"She doesn't worship me. She's been my mum's best friend, that's all. She took being a godmother serious."

"Oh no, it's much more than that. She all but adopted you, and therefore, she didn't need me anymore!"

"Bullshit," Merlin said quietly. "You're doing her injustice if you really believe that. She talks a lot about you. Even now."

Edward stood up so abruptly that his chair fell over: "What, so you'd have preferred if she'd forgotten me?"

At least he did know about the dementia.

"No," Merlin replied, mustering all his patience, "I meant that even now, though most of the time she doesn't recognize people who're familiar, she still waits for you to come visiting her. She keeps asking for you."

"You're fucking lying!" Edward kicked Merlin's chair so violently that it toppled backwards. For a moment, time seemed to be slowing down as Merlin realized that he was going to fall without any means to stop himself. The impact on his bound arms was vicious; for a moment, he couldn't breathe because of the pain, hoping that nothing was broken.

He didn't have time to dwell on that, however, since Edward was on him now, choking him with both his hands: "She isn't waiting for me, she's waiting for you!"

Merlin tried to speak, but the pressure on his windpipe was too strong.

After what seemed like an eternity and Merlin had begun to feel hazy, Edward finally reigned himself in: "She is dying, they told me," he said, his voice trembling with barely suppressed hatred and maybe grief, "she doesn't have long." He sat back on his haunches, nodding as though reassuring himself of his resolve: "I need to get rid of you, otherwise you'll inherit everything."

"Me?" Merlin croaked. "I don't think so."

Edward growled: "Stop lying. I need to know where she's keeping my grandfather's guns."

Merlin frowned: "Which guns?"

This earned him another kick against the chair, painfully grinding down on his already tortured arms, which were bearing most of his weight; he couldn't subdue a groan.

"Don't play stupid. The pair of sporting guns my father inherited from him. They're worth a lot nowadays, and I need them. They aren't in the cabinet in which they belong, so clearly my dear mum has hidden them somewhere, or maybe given them to you."

"You searched her house?"

"Of course I did."

"Huh. You obviously didn't search my flat, otherwise you'd know I don't have them." Speaking was taking an effort because of his abused throat, but at least it distracted him from the agony in his arms.

"I know you wouldn't keep them there. You're too smart." Edward sounded hateful. "Now where are they?"

"Sorry," Merlin said, "I can't help you."

Edward scowled at him: "I'll change your mind about that."

  
  


"Here he is. Edward Hardcastle, 52, arrested for illegal narcotics trade twice, current address is a flat in Clapham."

"Car?"

"Yep. A black minivan."

"Bingo," Harry said, tentative relief making itself known. "At least that's something to go on."

The flat was empty, which was no surprise: the CCTV feeds of that area hadn't shown the car returning. Harry found a few scribbled notes which proved that Edward Hardcastle had been watching Merlin's flat, since he had jotted down dates and times. Apparently, he hadn't followed him, there was nothing about the shop or Savile Row. Hardcastle either seemed to have been rather certain that he was going to abduct Merlin in front of his flat, or he was just stupid.

"Lancelot," he said, activing his intercom, "did you get any intel on the car?"

"Not much. He headed northwest towards Slough, but that's all we know. If he got gas, he paid in cash. His cards haven't been used all day. Oh, and the license plates are fake. He obviously planned this whole thing through."

"Thank you," Harry said tersely. "I'll try my luck at the care home where Mrs Hardcastle is living. Maybe I'll find Edward's mobile number so we can track his whereabouts." He had to; judging from the latest pieces of information, Hardcastle seemed to mean business.

  
  


Following his ominous announcement, Edward had stormed out. Merlin had managed to roll the chair onto his left side, which didn't make it much better, but at least the pressure was off of his right arm which kept hurting, and if Edward should try to get him into an upright position, there might at least be the chance to bite him.

Edward however didn't come back in for quite some time; Merlin gritted his teeth because his left shoulder was complaining loudly after a few minutes. He really hoped that somehow, Harry was going to find out where he was.

  
  


Harry had successfully broken into the residential care home's office and quickly found Mrs Hardcastle's file, which indeed had her son's mobile number. He immediately passed the data over to Lancelot, who tried to locate the phone.

"Sorry, Harry," he said a few minutes later. "It's in his flat."

  
  


It must have been hours, Merlin thought drowsily when Edward finally came back and switched on the light. He didn't say anything, just emptied a large bucket of cold water over his prisoner: "Wake up!"

Merlin blinked, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes: "I wasn't sleeping," he gasped, just to hear his own voice. His throat still smarted.

"I hope you had second thoughts in the meantime," Edward said, managing to sound threatening.

Still blinking, Merlin tried to focus on his blurry figure: "I told you, I really don't know where they are. And I haven't been in Muriel's house ever since she moved into the care home last year."

Edward snorted: "You're a good actor, I'll give you that." He put one foot on Merlin's right shoulder and put some pressure on it. Merlin did his best not to gasp with pain, but some of it must have shown in his face, because Edward grinned. He gave another push, then turned away: "I'll leave you to think a bit longer. You might want to enjoy the peace." With that, he left, and the room was filled with darkness once more.

  
  


Harry found the phone in a coat pocket. He reprimanded himself, thinking he should have found it the first time he had been there. Again, he wondered whether Hardcastle was clever or stupid. Maybe he had bought a burner phone, or he had simply forgotten it.

Whatever the reason, they had no way to track him now. Harry took the phone and went back to HQ. It was long past midnight, and he felt bone tired, frustration playing a large part in that.

Lancelot was still there, stretching his arms when Harry came in.

"Still no luck with the signal," he muttered, looking every bit as weary as Harry felt.

"We need to unlock this," Harry said, showing him the phone. "It's protected by a four-digit code. He doesn't seem to have a landline, so maybe he made some calls which are related to the abduction."

"Let's see." Lancelot took the phone: "Should be easy."

It took twenty minutes for Merlin's software to find the code, and something in Harry unclenched. He opened the phone's log: "There's nothing there." He swore under his breath: "He must have deleted everything."

"Maybe we can retrieve the data," Lancelot said.

"Do you know how?"

"No. But I know someone who owes me a favour, and _he_ knows."

"The trouble is that it's the middle of the night," Harry said despondently. Accordingly, no one answered the phone when Lancelot tried to give them a call.

"I'll wake him," Lancelot said, getting to his feet. "I'll break into his bloody house if I have to."

  
  


Still, it took him two hours to get there and back and to obtain the information they needed in between. Harry had closed his eyes for a few seconds after Lancelot had left, and guiltily straightened up when the younger agent returned; Lancelot immediately sat down and pulled up the main screen.

He rubbed his hands: "How about some fresh tea while I work?"

"Yes," Harry said, "coming up." He hated how making tea was the only thing he could do right now.

  
  


Merlin must have dozed a bit, despite the wretched coldness which was even worse because he was wet, despite the pain which seemed to have spread from his shoulder and arms throughout his body, despite the thirst and the hunger. He had been trained to get through hostage situations, which was similar, but training still was different from reality, and it had been a long time ago. He blinked; pale light with a rosy tint was visible through the window. He tried to alter his position, but the floor was uneven and the chair wouldn't budge, mainly because his limbs were so numb.

He thought of everything he had had to do yesterday and everything he was going to do today, and how those things suddenly became unimportant.

He thought of Muriel and that he was glad she'd never know about this. He didn't know how far Edward was prepared to go, but Merlin didn't trust him. Never had, since he had known him all his life. It'd be best to muck him about for a while, buying time; there probably was no easy way out of this anyway.

  
  


"How long is this taking!" Harry was pacing again.

"It's an old phone and the program needs time to reconstruct the data," Lancelot replied patiently. "Better slowly than not at all, don't you think?"

"Yes," Harry hissed, hating it nevertheless.

  
  


Edward was back with more water. It was annoying, really, but then, that was the point.

"This is how it's gonna go," Edward said, nudging Merlin with the tip of his shoe; since he was standing, his face was nothing but a pale spot looming somewhere above him. "You're going to tell me where the guns are, or else I'll hurt you. I'm not joking."

"I know," Merlin said softly, "you never did." He'd had enough of that when they had been much younger, Edward being his senior of four years. "Still- I'm not telling you."

"Aha. So you _do_ know where they are."

Merlin remained silent.

Edward grabbed the back rest of the chair and pulled it upright with surprising strength. Merlin's shoulder screamed for a moment, then relief made itself known, but it didn't last long.

When he next looked, Edward had a gun in his hand; he aimed it on the bound man, then cut the cable ties around his legs. He looked up, narrowing his eyes: "Don't think I'd hesitate to shoot you. Maybe in your good leg, how's that for a sport?"

Merlin was too preoccupied with the onset of pain in his legs and foot to react, but boy did he wish he could've kicked right now; it was too bad that his limbs weren't responding yet, having been immobile for too long.

"Hurts, does it?" Edward now said. "Well. Nevertheless, I'll have to make one adjustment."

With a grimace, Edward pushed up Merlin's left trouser leg. Merlin squirmed, which was all he could do at the moment, but he couldn't prevent Edward from taking off his prosthesis. Carelessly, he threw it on the ground, getting to his feet again: "Get up."

Merlin shook his head: "How?"

Edward quickly aimed the weapon into the far corner somewhere behind Merlin and fired.

"I'm not joking," he repeated in a low voice.

"That's still not making the blood return into my limbs quicker," Merlin repeated. This earned him a blow to the head; the muzzle of the gun hit his temple hard enough to throw him off the chair. Still unable to catch himself, he hit the ground rather hard. Once more, he had trouble breathing for a moment, and there were lights exploding behind his eyes. His teeth seemed to reverberate with the impact; at least he hadn't bitten on his tongue though. Unable to move, he lay still, listening, trying to breathe the pain away. Edward however wasn't willing to grant him any reprieve: "Sit up," he said, gun still trained at Merlin's head. Who somehow got himself into a sitting position as soon as he could manage; so much for dignity, he thought fleetingly. To make matters worse, he was feeling queasy all of a sudden. It'd be just his luck if he'd have to vomit.

Edward briefly tucked the gun into his pocket and painfully hauled Merlin up; fortunately, he managed to stand. It was difficult to keep his balance without the artificial leg though. The fact that he couldn't see properly or that his head was still throbbing viciously from the blow didn't help with that, and neither did the fact that he hadn't had any sustenance for more than roughly 32 hours; he never ate breakfast at home, which he now wished he did.

Sighing inwardly, he braced himself, banishing all thoughts of food from his mind; he wasn't intimidated by the man who was holding him captive, but he sure as hell didn't make the mistake to consider him harmless either.

Edward grinned.

  
  


Finally, Lancelot had managed to retrieve the data. Harry grabbed the phone and and browsed through its log, writing down the last numbers which had been called and which had called this one; Lancelot ran one after the other. Most of them turned out to be irrelevant, but there was one number Hardcastle had called several times, which belonged to a William Weir. He was living in Reading and also had a criminal record, mostly for burglary.

"You'd drive through Slough if you wanted to get to Reading," Harry said, slowly. Lancelot looked at him: "His number says he's at home. Fancy a surprise visit?"

It was nearing six o'clock when they headed towards the exit; a mere 24 hours ago, nothing had happened yet. Harry forbade himself to think about how long 24 hours could be, willing himself to concentrate on the task ahead instead.

  
  


Merlin was exhausted. He made a point of always keeping himself in a good shape, running outdoors and using the gym at HQ. Sometimes he went swimming with Harry, though he didn't like it much; he didn't think he'd ever get used to the sensation of phantom movements, of feeling a foot which wasn't there anymore, which usually presented itself in the water.

The strain of what had transpired during the past hours was beginning to show, though. He had a raging headache and could feel himself falter, which he couldn't allow to happen. He needed to stay alert. Nevertheless, he could feel cold sweat on his skin despite being freezing and damp anyway, and his leg began to feel rather wobbly.

"It's simple," Edward had said. "You sit down, I shoot your good leg. If you tell me where the guns are, you _can_ sit down." He had glanced at his watch: "If you haven't told me where they are in one hour, I'll shoot you nevertheless, _starting_ with your good leg."

Pity, Merlin thought; Edward normally wouldn't have stood a chance against him.

  
  


William Weir wasn't very pleased about his early morning visitors. He began to swear loudly, threatening them, until Harry used his patented eargrip; soon, Weir told them everything they wanted to know, further helped along by the weapon Lancelot had trained at him and a detailed description of how he was going to end if he didn't sing.

Edward Hardcastle was an old acquaintance of his and he, Will, had owed him one. So when Ed had called to ask for a favour, Will hadn't hesitated. He had found a derelict farmhouse nearby which had yet to be knocked down and which was perfect for Ed's requirements; he could even hide his car in the old barn there, and nobody'd notice he was there. Will swore he hadn't heard from Ed during the past week.

Once he had told them exactly where to find the house, they bound and gagged him severely, subsequently locking him in his wardrobe, to make sure that he couldn't somehow get a warning out to Hardcastle; once they had gotten Merlin out, they'd send someone to release him.

  
  


Harry was nervous, something he wasn't used to anymore. Nervousness was something no Kingsman could afford, and it was entirely one's own doing anyway, therefore he had tried to focus on his skills instead, and with the years, it had worked better and better. He knew what he was able to do and he knew that things could go wrong, it was as simple as that. Yet now, with no way of knowing what was going on in that old farmhouse, he found himself trembling again.

They parked the car some distance away and approached the property.

  
  


"Too bad," Edward said, "only five minutes left, and you still won't talk. Look at you, Alan- you're shaking. Why don't you make this a lot easier for the both of us and just tell me what I want to know?"

"You decide," Merlin said, which took a lot of effort. "It's either. Me being stubborn. Or maybe I. Really don't know."

Before Edward could reply, there was a small sound from the window. Edward instinctively turned around, and before he could react, a small dart had lodged itself firmly in his neck.

"Wha-" He fell like a log. As did Merlin. His leg simply gave out under him, and he found himself on the floor once more, dizzy and breathless from the pain, chilled to the bone, shaking and weak as a kitten.

He still couldn't see properly, but he immediately recognized Harry when the door opened and a dark-suited figure came in.

"Merlin!" It sounded like "Darling". Harry dropped to his knees next to him, and there was so much anxiety and love in his voice. He looked dismayed and furious at the same time; he was close enough now for Merlin to see that.

Harry's hands shook as he touched Merlin's face, trying to comprehend his condition: apart from a number of bruises and a small gash at his temple, he couldn't see any open wounds, which was good for a start, but his partner was damp and shaking, his eyes reddened and glassy. He had dark smudges underneath his eyes which only emphasized how pale he was.

Yet he was stubborn too: "Help me to sit up, will you?" he croaked. "You took your time."

The truth was that he probably wouldn't be able to sit at all without support, which was annoying. Harry tried to be gentle as he helped him up, but he noticed that Merlin was gritting his teeth. Out of a whim, Harry abandoned their usual caution and pulled Merlin close, holding him tightly for a moment, closing his eyes. God. He was alive. It could have been so much worse.

Merlin leaned into Harry's embrace, savouring the warmth and the heavenly-scented solidness that was Harry Hart, telling him that it really was over. His arms began to protest against the rather firm grip however, and he couldn't subdue a groan. He felt a little nauseous again, which he hoped could be ignored.

Harry immediately released him:"Are you injured?"

"Maybe. I don't know about my arms and shoulder yet."

"Shit. Sorry."

  
  


"Merlin!" Lancelot had taken his time to join them after he had left the window, wanting to give them some privacy for a moment. They probably thought that nobody had noticed they were in a relationship, and he didn't want them to know that he knew; it'd have felt like intruding on something. So he had looked around for a bit, making sure there really wasn't anyone else.

"Lancelot," Merlin said hoarsely. "Good shot."

Lancelot gave a mock bow: "I learned from the best."

  
  


While Lancelot took care of the still unconscious Edward Hardcastle, Harry cut the cable ties around Merlin's wrists, holding his arms to prevent them from simply falling.

"Don't forget my leg," Merlin murmured, "he took it off."

"We won't." Harry cautiously moved Merlin's arms forward; it hurt so much that Merlin couldn't even tell if anything was broken or otherwise injured; they'd have to wait. He visibly tensed and only relaxed once his hands were resting in his lap. Harry could feel that his skin was clammy and that the shaking was still there, a subtle but consistent tremor throughout his body.

Lancelot came over with the leg: "Tied up like a parcel," he said, glancing back at Hardcastle. "See how _he_ likes it."

Merlin gave a weak smile which albeit more resembled a grimace: "Do me a favour- put him in the boot and hit as many potholes as possible."

  
  


"You're a little green around the gills," Harry observed while they were waiting for Lancelot to get the car; keeping Merlin upright was a welcome excuse to hold on to him. Harry had wrapped his jacket around his partner to supply a little warmth, and Merlin, relieved with the knowledge that the ordeal was over, seemed to be fading rapidly now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

"'S okay," Merlin closed his eyes. "Just dehydrated. I'll be fine."

After drinking some water, Merlin fell asleep on the way back to HQ. They had found his shoes, jacket and scarf, but not his glasses, which was peculiar but a welcome excuse to close his eyes again. He was so exhausted that he was out of it in seconds. He had been able to tell Harry and Lancelot that Edward had planned to kill him one way or other, and that they had been just in time; the reason for the abduction had indeed been a revenge of sorts, plus Edward being afraid that he'd miss out on his inheritance.

"It's always either money or love," Lancelot said contemplatively, "or hate, as a result of love gone wrong."

"Hm," Harry nodded absently. "Or both." He couldn't keep himself from stealing a few glances at Merlin while he slept; he really looked rather worse for wear and had huddled into a blanket, looking completely depleted.

  
  


"Good work, gentlemen," Arthur told Lancelot and Harry an hour later.

They had called ahead and informed Morgan, their resident physician, when they'd arrive, therefore he and a nurse were already waiting for them with a stretcher when they did. Merlin was barely awake and didn't protest, which was an indicator for how poorly he really felt.

Once they had taken care of Hardcastle, they had gone to report to Arthur what had transpired, and had breakfast with him.

Despite the fatigue which made itself known now, Harry wouldn't have dreamed of leaving. He thanked Lancelot, who then left for home, and went to the infirmary. He had to wait for a bit before the nurse came out of Merlin's room: "You may go in," she said. "The doctor's still there."

Morgan smiled benevolently: "Galahad. I expected you," he said. He had already been at Kingsman when Harry had been recruited, and he knew from experience how close he and Merlin were.

Harry looked at the man in the bed, who appeared to be sleeping: "How is he?"

"Exhausted. And he's hardy, I'll grant him that. Well, we already knew that, of course." Morgan glanced at Merlin as well: "He asked me to tell you, so do you want the whole list?"

"Please."

Morgan didn't have to consult his clipboard: "There was no need for surgery, to start with the good news, though the right humerus is partially fractured."

Harry frowned: "That's..."

"The bone in the upper arm."

"Ah. Thank you."

Morgan continued: "Both arms, his right shoulder and his neck are severely contused, both shoulders are sprained. There is a multitude of bruises and he's mildly concussed. He's also dehydrated. Especially considering the latter points is why I'd like to keep him here for a while, at least till tomorrow."

Harry nodded: "Is that all?"

"Yes."

Both of them thought of the last time Merlin had been lying here, which had been so much worse. Harry couldn't but breathe a small sigh of relief. Considering how long Merlin had been gone, they had indeed gotten off lightly.

And yet. After Morgan had left, Harry walked up to the bed, taking in the bandages and bruises, the IV lines, the visible exhaustion in Merlin's face, and he felt a shudder running down his spine. Unthinkingly, he reached out and very gently wrapped his fingers around the other's hand.

"'arry," Merlin's voice was very low and scratchy, and he didn't open his eyes, but for a moment, there was some undeniable pressure in his touch.

"Yes. I'm here." Harry said softly. "Sleep, darling."

He couldn't bring himself to let go yet, therefore he held on to Merlin's hand a while longer.

  
  


Later, Harry went home, if reluctantly so. He was utterly tired though, and he wasn't going to be of any use during the next few days if he didn't rest now, therefore he took a quick shower and went to bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When Merlin woke up of his own volition, not counting the times Morgan had checked on him, it was night again. He blinked, for a moment confused until he remembered what had happened. He must have slept all day, judging from the dimmed lights in the room. He was alone, and the only sounds came from the monitors beeping quietly in the background. He vaguely recalled that Harry had been there with him earlier; he had probably gone home to sleep, which was good. He must have been knackered.

Merlin soon closed his eyes again as well; due to the medication he wasn't in pain, but he certainly felt battered. In hindsight, he wondered how Edward had been able to overpower him at all; he still couldn't recall the actual abduction, he didn't even remember seeing a car.

Uneasily, Merlin shifted around, wishing he could turn onto his side. Had he really been unable to free himself? Had those cable ties been as tight as he thought, or had he given up too quickly? Maybe it was just as well that he wasn't on active field duty anymore; maybe he simply wasn't made for it. He had even lost a limb, after all. Harry, among other people, had repeatedly told him that it could have happened to anyone, but if one counted the grenade which had cost one of their recruits his life and which all of them had overlooked, it didn't seem like a commendable performance.

Sometimes he missed being out there, but no, he concluded: he was better off behind the scenes, where it was easier to keep track of things. Opening his eyes once more, all of a sudden feeling agitated despite his drug-induced drowsiness, he looked around the room without taking in any of the dim, blurry lights or the shapes of things. Harry would tell him he was irrational, if he was here. He'd tell him that there was no point in reprimanding oneself, that Kingsman wouldn't work anymore without Merlin, that his job was more important than all the agents' together. Harry really believed all that, and he was adamant that he, Merlin, didn't forget the value of what he was doing. It was easier said than done, however, especially after such an incident. He usually was aware of how he had found his place in life, and he was content- yet he hadn't felt this... _defeated_ in a long time. Unseeingly, he stared at the ceiling; he couldn't have gone back to sleep now if he tried.

  
  


Harry had briefly debated returning to HQ in the evening, but when he called Morgan around six p.m., the doctor told him all was quiet and Merlin hadn't woken up apart from the few times that Morgan had roused him to check he was all right despite the concussion. It was just as well, he thought, for he fully intended to take Merlin home on the following day.

  
  


When Harry arrived at the infirmary in the morning, Merlin was awake but looked rather awful. The dark smudges underneath his eyes seemed to have increased, and the bruises on his temple and around his throat were more prominent as well. He didn't quite look himself.

"Good morning," Harry said, not letting on his concern but smiling. "I brought you your spare glasses."

"Thank you," Merlin put them on somewhat clumsily with his left hand; the IV cannula had already been removed, Harry noticed with relief.

"Did Morgan clear you to go home?"

"He hasn't been here yet."

Harry had become rather good at reading his partner, and not only Merlin's tone told him that something was off. Right then however, the door opened and the very doctor in question came in, regarding Merlin over the rim of his glasses and holding up three fingers even before he had come to a halt next to the bed: "How many?"

"Twelve."

"Har har. I see, you're good to go." Morgan said, consulting his clipboard: "Seriously, it does look well enough, provided that you won't run around yet and take things easy for a while. Meaning plenty of rest and no work, of course."

Merlin groaned: "How long?"

"Ten days minimum."

"I can't possibly take ten days off. I've already missed two."

"You can and you will. I've spoken to Arthur about it, and between us we've come up with a contingency plan."

Merlin didn't look happy about that, but kept quiet. He was aware that most of his daily routine tasks could be managed by others if need be; he'd deal with the rest afterwards. Still, he didn't like anyone meddling with the devices which he considered as personal.

  
  


Edward Hardcastle was livid. When he had come to, he had found himself in a holding cell which definitely didn't have anything to do with the filth, and he had still been handcuffed behind his back. Someone had gotten Alan out when he had been so close- Edward was seething. He paced around the small space and kicked against the walls a few times, but his anger didn't subside.

After what might have been half an hour, he heard a noise; the door opened, and two men in suits came in. While the younger one positioned himself next to the entrance, the older one walked up to Edward and stared him in the face, trying to intimidate him, the old geezer.

“What do you want?” Edward snapped. He had already decided that he wasn't going to confess anything.

The old man stared at him for a while longer until Edward couldn't but avert his gaze: “I want a lawyer.”

“You brazenly assaulted a member of my staff, with a view to kill him,” the man eventually said in a cold, low voice that didn't bode well. “We are going to have a little talk about that.”

  
  


Merlin was silent when Harry helped him into the clothes he brought and on their way to his flat, where Harry steered him straight to the bedroom because no matter what he said, he obviously was far from fine yet. Slowly, he sat down on the bed but didn't set about to take off his leg. He just sat there, rigidly, and looked annoyed. Angry, even.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked softly, sitting down next to him.

"It's nothing," Merlin muttered, "just my hurt pride playing up." He tried to make it sound trivial, but Harry knew him well enough: "You're not blaming yourself for what happened, are you?"

"Wouldn't you, if our roles were reversed?"

"Yes, I probably would. And then you'd tell me off for it."

"Yeah." Merlin blinked. "It's different though, isn't it? Unforeseen situations arise all the time while you're out there, but that's your job. In this case, it didn't even have anything to do with what I do for a living. And worst of all, despite of what I do for a living, I was completely helpless." He fell silent, frowning.

Harry gently touched his good hand, which was clenched up into a fist: "Don't you think you're being too hard on yourself? I would have been equally helpless if someone had abducted me like that. A large part of being a successful agent is to be two steps ahead of your adversary, and to have the better gadgets. You know that. In this situation, you didn't have any chance, if you ask me. No one would have."

"I should have found a way to free myself," Merlin said stubbornly. "I should have been able to do _some_ thing."

"Cable straps," Harry reminded him. "Impossible to get out of, as Lancelot keeps reminding me with a grin." This referred to an unfortunate incident he rather not liked to talk about and which included Rohypnol and a wealthy heiress who had taken an unexpected fancy to him; it had cost him a good pair of trousers and a considerable amount of dignity. Suffice it to say, Lancelot was not prepared to let him live it down too soon.

Merlin nodded wearily but still avoided his gaze. He knew Harry was right, of course he was. And yet, it rankled.

"Let's lie down," Harry suggested. "I'll stay with you, if you like."

Merlin nodded and bent down to take off his leg. Harry knew better than to offer any help now; he slid out of his own shoes and jacket instead and turned down the duvet. After crawling onto the bed, he gently slid his arm around Merlin and nestled close to him, pulling the covers over them with the other arm; his partner turned towards him as much as his sore body and the cast allowed. Harry could feel Merlin's breath against his skin as he rested his cheek against Harry's neck and slowly calmed down.

Tenderly, he ran his fingers along Merlin's jaw and over his ear, feeling his heartbeat and his warmth. He closed his eyes: Merlin smelled like hospital, yet his own scent was palpable underneath. Harry couldn't imagine what'd have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. He subdued a shiver but automatically reinforced his grip around the other.

"Tell me about Edward?" he asked softly.

Merlin hesitated: "Not much to tell," he murmured. "You know the gist."

"Stubborn Scot," Harry teased him.

He could feel Merlin blink a few times. "We've known each other for all our lives," he eventually said. "He knew my weak spots. And he knew how to tie me up so he'd keep the upper hand."

"Must be scared of you," Harry murmured.

"I don't think so," Merlin replied. "As a bairn, I was scared of him. He was mean- in a dark way. Still is."

Harry waited.

"Luckily for me, he isn't very patient either," Merlin continued a few seconds later. "He likes things to be quick and easy. When he planned this, he obviously didn't want to bother with too many details. For one, it's typical that he used a bucket instead of trying something more complicated."

"Waterboarding, you mean."

"Yes, for example." He cleared his throat: "He was rather amateurish, to be honest."

"He'd have shot you though."

"Yes." Merlin muttered, sighing. "How I'd have liked to clock him on the nose."

He fell silent.

"I don't care," Harry heard himself say in a low voice. "I know you how strong you are and what you're capable of, and it doesn't matter to me that you couldn't get out of this one yourself. On the contrary- I think you deserve all manners of medals."

He rather felt than heard Merlin snort ever so softly: "That's because you're obsessed with me," he said, grumpily, after a moment of deliberation.

Harry smiled, pressing a kiss on Merlin's head: "Yes, probably. But then, it's hard not to be."

This elicited another snort, less grumpy this time.

"I mean it," Harry said airily, adding another kiss. "After all, I did marvel at you ever since we met- it was a classic case of 'you had me at hello'."

"You're watching too many soppy films."

Unperturbed, Harry continued with the kissing: "But it's been growing exponentially ever since. And I'm convinced that what you're doing at work actually _is_ magic. The code name's a lucky coincidence and very fitting."

"Stop it," Merlin said, not managing to sound as annoyed as he'd have liked.

"I was just getting warmed up."

"You're such a clown."

"And you're an actual wizard."

Merlin sighed: "And that from a man who not only still owns a VCR but keeps calling it newfangled."

  
  


A little while later, Harry thought Merlin had finally dozed off when he unexpectedly spoke once more: "I'm just really glad that Muriel won't ever know about this," he said softly. "It'd break her heart all over again. The idiot doesn't even realize how often he's done that already."

"I'm so sorry," Harry said, stroking Merlin's neck: "It's a dreadful business altogether. I know she always stood your friend."

"More than that," Merlin sounded sorrowful. "She was like a mother at times." And now she didn't even recognize him anymore most of the time.

"I'd like to meet her," Harry said.

Despite himself, Merlin chortled: "She always asked me if I'd met a nice girl."

"What did you tell her?"

"She knows there's a colleague I quite liked."

" _Quite liked_? I was under the impression that you're adoring me!"

"I think she got my meaning. I told her about you."

"Well, she won't be too shocked then."

"Says you."

"What? I'm pretty."

"Bigheaded, more like."

" _And_ pretty."

"True," Merlin conceded, and at last there was a small smile in his tone. "You are."

"Does that mean you'll take me along next time you visit her?"

"Well... yes, if you really want to. She might not know me, though, if it's one of her bad days."

"She'll still be happy about visitors, I suppose."

"Yes," Merlin replied, fondly. "She will."

  
  


While Harry contemplated the things he had just heard, Merlin's breathing slowly evened out as he fell asleep; increasingly drowsy, Harry listened to it and was grateful that he could.

He slept for an hour or so before his bladder woke him; regretfully, he disentangled himself from Merlin, careful not to jostle him too much, and went to the bathroom. He didn't get back into bed when he returned, but sat down on the edge of the mattress just looking at his sleeping partner. It was astounding how much he felt at home with him, how a single person had become the very centre of his universe. It was true that he had been smitten with Merlin ever since they had met; chemistry, he supposed, though his romantic side rather insisted on  _kindred spirits_ . 

He vividly remembered the first night they had spent together: he had just returned from Russia in the middle of January. It was already dark outside and raining cats and dogs; Harry had only just kicked off his shoes and put the kettle on when the doorbell of his little flat rang.

Outside, looking as cold as Harry was feeling, stood Merlin, hunched into his coat and huddled under an umbrella. Harry felt butterflies in his stomach as he invited his colleague in: “I was about to make tea,” he said, all but stammering, “I haven't had a decent cuppa in two weeks.”

Merlin held out a bag: “Don't let me keep you. I just thought you might need a few things, since you've been away.”

“Thank you,” Harry felt himself blush as he took the groceries, feeling like a bumbling idiot; the butterflies were having a field day. “You look cold,” he said in an attempt to hide how jittery he suddenly was. 

“So do you.” Merlin smiled, and Harry thought he might easily lose himself in those green eyes; back then, Merlin hadn't needed glasses yet and didn't wear his when he wasn't at work.

“Yeah, I'm actually waiting for the boiler to heat up,” Harry replied, “I really could do with a shower.”

“Well,” Merlin half-turned towards the door. “I'll get going then.”

“N-no,” Harry said, quickly, “stay, please. Have some tea with me.”

They had tea together, and an hour later, a shower. Harry still remembered how he had been trembling with the realization that it was really happening, that he wasn't imagining it. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night and the happiness which had engulfed him when Merlin was still there. In the morning, there had been sleepy kisses and a muttered conversation.

“Can we repeat this?” Harry still hears Merlin's quiet words, feels his breath on his skin.

“By all means,” Harry had replied, leaning in for another kiss. 

“I didn't only mean... the sex,” Merlin had sounded downright shy. “The tea was nice.”

“Yes,” had Harry agreed. “And the shower.” 

They had giggled like schoolgirls.

Harry smiled at the notion of their younger selves giddy with bliss, his eyes still on Merlin's present version: a lot had happened since then, and they had undeniably gotten older. Their bond was as strong as ever though, and as he beheld the other man now, his love and affection for him welled up in Harry afresh; his gaze roamed over Merlin's cheeks, the dark lashes against his skin, his mouth, the inherent vulnerability in his sleeping self, and it took all of Harry's self-restraint not to reach out and touch him. He didn't want to rouse him, therefore he didn't. He simply crawled back on the bed and reassumed his previous position; without waking up, Merlin nestled against him with ease, the motions having become accustomed over the years.

“I love you,” Harry whispered.

 

Lancelot kept them informed about the proceedings concerning Edward Hardcastle; he had made a full confession in the meantime. Harry had had half a mind to go and interrogate the bastard himself, but Arthur wisely hadn't authorised that. Merlin was secretly glad about this, as it not only enabled both of them to distance themselves emotionally from the case for the time being but also for Harry to be around. He had taken a few days off and spent most of that time with his partner, which they enjoyed.

Merlin for his part didn't intend to stay in bed any longer than necessary. As soon as it wasn't such an effort anymore to sit up or move around at all, he relocated to the living room or to the sofa in the kitchen. That way he could watch Harry, who busied himself with cooking. He even attempted to bake a cake on the third day, the result of which was edible but rather crumbly. Harry wasn't entirely happy with it yet and vowed to buy a baking book.

"My grandmother used to make the most marvellous cakes," he said, sitting down next to Merlin. "I can still taste them."

"Is that where your sweet tooth came from?"

"Probably. When I visited her during the school holidays, we used to sit in her kitchen in the evenings with the radio on and indulged ourselves." Harry brushed some flour off his sleeve: "Seems like yesterday."

"Seems that a time machine would be useful once in a while," Merlin said.

Harry smiled at him: "My gran'd have a heart attack if I suddenly stood in her kitchen just like that. And anyway, I'd rather stay in the present, with you. "

Wordlessly, Merlin put his good arm around him and pulled him close. Harry stretched out as far as the small sofa allowed and leaned into his partner: "How are you doing?" he asked softly. He didn't mean physically, he could see that Merlin was looking much better already. But they hadn't talked about Edward any more, and even though Merlin appeared utterly composed once he had had sufficient sleep, Harry wouldn't put it past him that it was still bothering him, and a great deal at that. The remark about the time machine very likely hadn't come out of the blue either.

"It'll take a while," Merlin murmured. "It'll be better once the case is closed and I'm back at work."

"I wish I could make it easier for you," Harry said.

Merlin froze for the merest of seconds: "But you are," he then replied, as though surprised that his partner wasn't aware of it. Harry sat up a little and turned around, and they looked at each other, studying the other's familiar face in silence, reading mutual affection and trustfulness: "I may not always be able to show it," Merlin eventually added in a low voice.

A small smile nestled in the corners of Harry's mouth as he beheld him now: "I'm glad. Because believe it or not, you make me feel loved all the time, and I want to be able to do the same."

"You already are," Merlin all but croaked because his voice suddenly misbehaved. "Always."

After a moment, Harry gave a small sigh: "We're obviously quite a heavenly match," he said, "emotionally constipated as we are. We need to remedy that, immediately."

Merlin cleared his throat:"Well... A kiss, perhaps?"

He didn't have to ask twice.

  
  


The only thing that was still missing were Merlin's glasses; Edward said that he had thrown them into a ditch on the way to the farmhouse, but couldn't recall where exactly.

"Sorry, mate," Lancelot said, shaking his head. He had called round in person to deliver the news, and now they were sitting around the kitchen table, drinking coffee. "I think we'll have to write them off."

With a withering look, Merlin wordlessly reached for the laptop which Harry used to call his clipboard substitute and logged into his office account. Harry subdued a smirk, because he had an inkling of what was going to happen; accordingly, a few minutes later, Merlin turned the screen around and showed them a signal.

Startled, Lancelot leaned forward as though unable to believe his eyes: "But that's-"

"Magic," Merlin said, keeping a perfectly blank face.

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not a native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
